


What Within I Keep

by HiddenLacuna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Death, Heartache, Just wanted to reassure you, M/M, Post-The Sign of Three, Pre-His Last Vow, Remix, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide, This is just Sherlock being a melodramatic wanker as usual, dream sex I guess, drugged out mind palace sex, no one actually dies here, poem, witsontap2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenLacuna/pseuds/HiddenLacuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A remix of Anarfea's wonderful A Spectre at the Feast, done for Redscudery's Wits On Tap 2015 challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Within I Keep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anarfea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarfea/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Spectre at the Feast](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2375066) by [Anarfea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarfea/pseuds/Anarfea). 



> I am very lucky to have received Anarfea's beautiful fic in this challenge, which was the inspiration for this bit of doggerel. It's as brightly painful as a papercut on a bruise. I hope you read it and enjoy it. I couldn't have asked for a richer text from which to be inspired.

"There are limits. Can't all three dance."  
I remember when your false hands  
wrapped my waist and offered slim chance,  
laughing through our teeth.

Off you strut, with new wife glowing,  
two by two (and one is growing);  
I, alone, remain, unshowing  
what within I keep.

You have her; and she, another;  
her, I love as would a brother;  
but I was made to love no other.  
I tuck away the sheet.

Of all the songs on all the nights!  
I should have thought to set this right  
because I want with all my might  
for you to find your peace.

Perhaps it's easy being dead.  
Perhaps my brains could flow, so red.  
Perhaps I never saw you wed.  
Perhaps is such a cheat.

Fuck you. Maybe it's what I want,  
to have a demon preen and flaunt  
his lust for me. Watch, how he taunts -  
though you won't ever see.

Aha! You're him! He's you! You're her!  
You're dungeon and you're my master.  
Are you satin sheets or plastic fur?  
Victor or Vicki?

The games are done. I've had enough.  
I'm going to fuck and make it rough.  
You'll love it. I will be enough.  
And you will drown in me. 

I dreamed I died under the water.  
I thought I jumped and wasn't caught, or  
danced the final _danse macabre_ ,  
but you won't let me sleep.

I loosed a madman in my brain,  
I hung a fortnight on a chain,  
I could have died aboard a train,  
but I cannot bear release. 

Morning finds Madonna, stately,  
watching as I make my shaking  
hands obey me. Favours making  
bedfellows so brief. 

On stolen time I live, a man  
who fucked with death and came again.  
She says she knows what kind I am:  
The spectre at the feast. 


End file.
